


In the River Field

by shadow13



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Pre-War of the Ring, Young Hobbits, just general cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24764551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow13/pseuds/shadow13
Summary: For five young hobbits, recreating Bilbo's adventure is a fun and familiar game, and everyone has a part. There's just one question today - who will play Gandalf?
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	In the River Field

“Good morning, Gaffer!”

“Good mornin' to you, Mr. Bilbo.” Old Gaffer Gamgee leaned upon his spade at the edge of the kitchen garden, shading his eyes with his hand to great Bilbo as he came out with his pipe. “It is good weather we're havin'.”

“It is ind- _oof_!” He was pushed aside quite suddenly by his young nephew tearing out the door from behind him. “Frodo!”

“Sorry, Bilbo!” It was perfunctory and quick, rushing to the garden to see if Sam had arrived with his father. “Good morning, Gaffer, can Sam come with me down to the river field?”

“Oh, aye, Master Frodo, I suppose he ca-” He waited for no more leave than that, grabbing the young man by the hand and pulling him with him down the road. “Stay out of trouble there, Sam!”

Sam did not get a chance to answer, and was quite puffed by the time Frodo ceased pulling him along the wagon road. “Alright, there, Frodo, you don't have to pull.”

“Merry and Pip will be there already!” he laughed, for Frodo laughed easily. And indeed his cousins were there, waiting beneath a stately oak, where Meriadoc was combing burrs from his pony's tail.

Sam's eyes glittered to see the creature, the only one besides Merry who among them had a true appreciation for horseflesh. “Oh, she's a pretty thing, Merry.” He folded his hands behind his back because he wished terribly to touch the mare, and was waiting to be invited. “New, is she?”

“Oh no,” Merry smiled, folding the comb into his saddle pack. “She's me grandfather's – only his gout's been bothering him, so he hasn't taken her out and she was taking to biting the other ponies.”

“Oh, feisty, is she....” But Sam said it with deep affection and sweetness, drawing closer in spite of himself, and the bay pony bobbed her head at him, nosing at his vest perhaps for strokes, or else looking for sweets in his pockets.

It was about this time Fredegar Bolger could be seen coming up the road, huffing and puffing, brow dewed with sweat; and with him, of course, was.... “Go home, Estella!” He turned and shouted it for what must have been at least the tenth time as he finally made it under the shade of the oak.

Estella Bolger was five years younger than her brother, and consequently, _constantly_ inviting herself to games with his friends (of course Peregrin Took was younger still, but he was a boy, so quite obviously that was different). “Mother said you can't boss me about!”

“Mother also said you can't tag after me everywhere I go!”

“Aw, let her stay, Fatty.” Merry gave one of his very best smiles. “She's no great harm.” Frodo and Pippin groaned at this, while Estella nearly swooned; it was well known she thought the sun came out of Merry Brandybuck's ears.

“If we're going to play a game, I'd just as soon start,” Sam broke in, while Merry's pony had sneaked some seed corn from his pockets.

“Yes, what are we playing today, Frodo?”

“Let's do Bilbo's adventure.” It was probably their most frequently played game, but it was one they very rarely tired of. “I'll play Bilbo.” He usually was, and without much argument; after all, he was a Baggins, and knew the story better than anyone. Occasionally he was magnanimous enough to give someone else a turn, but today no one argued against it.

“I'll be Thorin,” Merry said, another frequent role for him. “Pip, go cut some canes from the blackberries for the swords.”

“Sam, you can be the Elvenking.”

There was some slight reluctance on the young Gamgee's part, but he offered, “Can I be the Lord of Rivendell, too?” Frodo agreed this was perfectly fine, and as long as he could be all the elves, Sam was alright playing one of the “baddies.”

“I've got the sticks!” Pippin had come back with three blackberry canes – and not a few pokes from the thorns. One very long for Glamdring, another cut shorter for Orcrist, and the final nub for Sting, which he handed over to Frodo. “What roles are there left?”

“Sam's going to play the elves, I've Bilbo, and Merry's Thorin.”

“Cheese and crackers, I suppose that only leaves the dwarves for any good ones.” Pip sucked on his tongue a moment. “Can I be Bard the Bowman?” It was unfair that his friends had already taken two kingly roles _and_ Bilbo; he might as well at least become the King of Dale.

“That's alright,” Frodo agreed. “Fatty, you can be Smaug and the goblins.” Fatty was often relegated to the villainous parts, but as he was by far the most easy going of the group, he rarely complained, and accepted it even now, mopping up sweat from his brow with a pocket handkerchief.

“I want a part, too!” Estella was not going to be forgotten.

“You can't,” young Mr. Baggins answered. “Not unless you want to help Fatty with the other parts.” It was no use asking for Merry's help in this, for he agreed there were no good roles for girls in Bilbo's story; and as this did not interest Estella, she harrumphed, and instead went off to pick blackberries. “That's everyone, I think....Oh! Who is going to play Gandalf!”

This set off some discussion. They could not relegate this role to Fatty, too, for he could hardly speak to himself as both the Goblin King _and_ the wandering wizard; they did not want to invite Estella back, for it would only encourage her, and anyway, she hadn't the gravitas for the role; Pippin might do, since the Lakeman was so much later in the tale; but it was as they argued this that a gruff voice said, “Why should anyone wish to play Gandalf? He has so little to do with the whole affair.”

Frodo wheeled, not even thinking to hope – but there he was, the grey old man himself! Leaning against his gnarled staff and leading a lean horse by the bridle. “Gandalf!” He flung himself into the legs of the towering wizard, who gave a small, “oof!” but otherwise chuckled merrily. The other players hung back, for while they liked the old man, they were also slightly intimidated by him, and it was only Frodo who lacked that caution.

“Hello, Frodo!” He patted the young hobbit's back with a wrinkled, old hand. “Don't let me stop your game.”

“But you don't want to see this when you went through the real thing!”

“Certainly I do.” He settled himself on a large stone, taking out his pipe and puffing agreeable. “I'll step in for the parts I must, but you'll cover all the bits I didn't see.”

With the parts decided, it was time to begin. They used the oak tree as the door, which Gandalf gamely rapped upon with his staff. Merry strode forward very confidently as Thorin, and the other players filled in temporarily as the other members of the company. There was pantomime of dinner, rounds of singing, and then the walking began. The path was just through the river field, and, at arbitrary points, locations would be named. Someone would declare they'd reached the Troll Shaws, and Fatty must chase the others while shouting he would eat them.

He only caught Pippin, however. “Merry, you're too fast!” He was doubled over, catching his breath. “I can't get you like that!”

“Oh, it's not my fault you're so slow!” But he obliged to be “caught,” and slumped down at Fredegar's feet, grumbling.

Gandalf was excellent in his role, it had to be said. He lit his staff like a bright star to mimic the rising of the sun, and all the others shrieked and laughed, covering their eyes from the penetrating light, even in the middle of the full afternoon. Fatty was obliged to stay as a statue until his next turn came, and Sam took his part as Master of Rivendell very seriously. They hadn't a map, of course, so he used an old seed envelope shoved into his pocket as a replacement, saying the word “begonia” was actually the moon letters for the secret door. Gandalf blew smoke rings and chuckled. “Excellently done, Samwise. Elrond himself would be flattered.”

Sam just blushed. “You don't have to make fun of me, Mr. Gandalf.” But Frodo smiled, for he knew the praise was sincere.

Then Fatty was to chase them again as the goblins in the mountains, but he would only do it if Merry didn't try to run so very fast this time. It seemed an argument was about to break out, but Frodo interjected. “Fredegar, catch me first, alright? I won't go too quickly.” Frodo was always very good at mollifying all parties concerned. And as for Gandalf's next part, well, the young hobbits all agreed it was better he _not_ produce the real Glamdring, and so the wizard was to use the blackberry cane – and he might have enjoyed poking it into Fatty's round belly just a bit too much.

But next was Gollum and his riddles in the dark.... “No, don't do this part!” Estella was near tears; she had come to watch, and was eating blackberries from the pockets of her apron. “It's too scary!”

“It is a little bit,” even Sam agreed.

“It's the very best part!” Frodo declared, and Gandalf watched, silently smoking. “Merry had a real cracker of a riddle last time, too.” So good was this riddle (“I can be cracked, I can be played, I can be told, I can be made.”) that “Bilbo” actually lost to “Gollum,” which had put the whole game into a tizzy, but it then just changed into a laughter-filled session of hide-and-go-seek instead. “I've even got a ring for it!” Gandalf sat up. From his pocket, Frodo pulled a ring of yellow-

“Oh, that's a very nice one,” Pippin looked into his palm, where a small band of woven straw sat waiting to be used. “Did you make that yourself, Frodo?”

“Bilbo helped!”

Gandalf relaxed again, his back no longer knit with tension. “We shall compromise. I shall tell one riddle, and then the game will go on.”

This was alright. His riddle was absolutely terrible (“You can catch me, but you cannot throw me.” “Gandalf, everyone knows that, it's a chill.”), but it allowed the game to continue. They skipped over the eagles, for there was no good way to play it, and anyway, Fatty was getting tired of having to chase everyone. As the Elvenking, Sam made everyone sit beneath the blackberry brambles, and Pippin's jacket became tangled up in them, and no one could get it free again, so he was most likely going to catch it from his mother that night. For the barrels, they just rolled upon the ground until they were well and dirty, and then it was finally time for Smaug and the Lonely Mountain.

Gandalf blew more smoke rings, and they floated around Fatty until they seemed to entirely cover him, as a dragon's dark breath. He coughed a bit. “Steady on!” But the others loved it and called out for more, and the wizard turned the smoke into different shapes – flowers, birds, even a running horse. The game was momentarily forgotten, until Pippin reminded them it was his big moment. “Oh, alright,” Fatty sighed, rolling his shoulders back and getting ready to be felled. “But next time, I want a game where nobody hits me.”

Even Merry was a bit abashed. “I'll play all those roles next time, Fredegar.”

“Too right you will.”

Pippin was very dramatic in firing his imaginary bow, and Fatty fell into the tall grass with a well-done, strangled groan. They crowned Merry with a ring of daisies first, then Pippin, and then Sam, which made him blush. The Battle of the Five Armies, it was decided, would just be the four of them, since they'd left the eagles out of it, and was over whenever one player managed to tag another. As Bilbo, Frodo sat out, electing to wait on the rock quietly next to Gandalf. Estella alternated between cheering on Merry and her brother for victory.

“You like this game, do you?” Gandalf asked him, now more mouthing his pipe than smoking it.

Frodo nodded, his knees tucked up against his chest. “I'd like an adventure someday, just like Bilbo's.”

Gandalf smiled, the sun going down over the hills turning the whole field golden. “Your uncle will be calling you for dinner soon.”

Frodo grimaced a little, for this was likely true, and they'd all be in trouble if they lingered much longer. “Alright, you four, it's about enough for today!”

“I haven't finished dying yet!”

“Well, hurry it up!” Frodo hopped from the rock, going to Merry's side – the latter of whom was quite indignant, as he was very good at this part – and taking his hand. “More people should value home and hearth, yes, go on.”

“I am getting very hungry,” Pippin agreed.

“You lot just cannot appreciate a good performance,” Merry grumbled, sticking his tongue out and finally “dying.” But it was agreed it had been an uncommonly good game with Gandalf to help, and they all planned to play again the day after tomorrow. Fatty took Estella's hand, which was fully purple with berry juice, and began to walk her home, while Merry mounted his pony and pulled Pippin on behind him – without his jacket, naturally. “Goodnight, Frodo. Goodnight, Sam.”

“Goodnight, Merry,” they said together, waving the two off.

Gandalf rose from off the stone. “Will you walk with us to Bagshot Row, Samwise?” Sam nodded bashfully, and Gandalf took up the reins of his horse, which had been contentedly munching the abundant grass of the field. “Very good. Come along, then.”

Sam was walked home, and Frodo waived him goodnight, promising to see him tomorrow. Turning up the hill, they walked toward the smial, until they fancied they could hear Bilbo calling. “ _Frodo_!” The old hobbit was very annoyed, hands on hips. “Where has that boy gotten to. Fro- Oh!” Gandalf's tall, blue hat came into view before young Frodo did, but any irritation was instantly gone as they passed the gate and came up the steps. “Gandalf! You're here!” Bilbo was now in a capital mood, and waived them both inside, patting his nephew's shoulders. “Go wash up, there's a lad. You didn't tell me you were coming, Gandalf!”

“No, I did not even know I was coming myself until I found I was in the Shire.”

This seemed a perfectly acceptable answer to Bilbo, who nodded as he took his friend's hat and his staff. “Some visits are just like that. You'll have supper with us, of course? Squab pie tonight, roasted onions from the garden – with gravy, of course – fresh carrots-”

“Yes, of course.” Frodo was only too happy to go about setting out an extra plate and an extra chair while his uncle spoke with his old friend. It was a pleasure just to listen to them talk, and the talk continued over the pie and the onions; and later, over the pudding; and it continued in between puffs of Old Toby, the sweet smoke floating in curls about the room, while the fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Frodo lay his head on his arms, eyes half closed, and could hardly remember being so happy since his mother and father had been alive.

“-Frodo's getting quite handy with his elvish!” This made him perk up, blinking the drowsiness from his eyes. “Come, Frodo, let's hear some of it.”

Frodo stood up from his chair. “Gil-Galad was an Elven king. Of him the harpers sadly sing-” Gandalf nodded along appreciatively to his recitation of the lay, but stopped him before he came to the parts involving Mordor.

“Yes, not bad at all. _Far maer_ ,” he smiled, and Frodo stood up a little taller for it. “You translated that in Rivendell, didn't you, Bilbo?”

“I like to think I made good use of my time there.”

“And perhaps someday, Frodo, you can do the same thing, and hear it sung by the elves.”

His eyes lit up, and he turned to Bilbo, who was smiling as he sucked at his pipe. “They sing very beautifully in Rivendell, don't they, Uncle Bilbo?”

“Indeed they do, my boy, indeed they do.” He looked mischievously at his guest. “What say we crack open a bottle? Frodo, go down into the cellar and-”

“Oh no,” Gandalf laughed. “I cannot have both an indulgent hobbit meal _and_ indulgent hobbit wine.”

Bilbo nodded. “Put on the water for tea, my lad – and then off to bed with you.”

He knew Gandalf and his uncle would be up several hours more, reminiscing on old adventures – but his head was nodding, and he was so full of warmth and food, praise and pleasure, that he could hardly keep his eyes open. “You'll stay for some time, won't you, Gandalf?”

“A few days at least, my boy. A few days, if nothing more.”

“I'm glad.” He embraced the old wizard tightly, so overwhelmed with his happiness, but then went to put the kettle over the fire. “Goodnight, Bilbo – goodnight, Gandalf.”

“Goodnight to you, Frodo.”

He readied himself for bed with just a single candle for light, the casement open. Across the Shire, the moon was rising in all its silver splendor, so that the grass looked almost white under its light. Frodo sat on the edge of his bed for a little while, the candle snuffed and smoking, just watching the moon and the stars, remembering all the elf names for them that he could; perhaps Gandalf would like to hear them tomorrow night. For a moment, he did not know if he wanted to leave the Shire at all, even for an adventure. But he thought no more of this, climbing beneath the coverlet, and was soundly asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, okay, so Frodo would be in his 20s by the time he lives with Bilbo, HOWEVER, considering hobbits don't even reach full maturity until they're 33, and can easily live to 100, *shut up, it's a cute idea, okay?*


End file.
